


Psychtober One-Shots: Domestic Edition

by PyroKlepto



Category: Psych
Genre: (and probably some friendship fics), (maybe), (will update tags as I go along), Baking, Domestic Fluff, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Established Relationship, F/M, Fluff, Lassiet - Freeform, M/M, Psychtober, Pumpkin pie, Scary Movies, Shassie, definitely some AUs, probably several slightly OOC stories, relationships
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-10-11
Updated: 2015-10-31
Packaged: 2018-04-25 21:07:59
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 7,230
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4976572
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/PyroKlepto/pseuds/PyroKlepto
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A series of one-shots for Psychtober/Psychoween, based off prompts by the lovely MuiromeM here on Archive of Our Own. Not Rated because I do not write smut, and since these are meant to be more or less 'fluffy' stories, there probably won't be much violence either. If there is, it won't be graphic enough or heartbreaking enough to warrant a Teen Audiences rating.</p><p>So yep! Enjoy these autumn-themed one-shots featuring Psych characters (for various ships or characters, check the tags).</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. The Scary Movie Marathon

**Author's Note:**

> Juliet had plans for a scary movie marathon with her friend Tara; but those plans fell through. Lassiter had absolutely no plans for the weekend. So when Juliet invites him to join her for a movie marathon, he figures there can't be any harm in it. 
> 
> (I have never written Lassiet before, and I've only ever read one fic featuring that relationship. So if this seems out-of-character, that would be why. Please be kind and patient as I get the hang of writing them accurately. Thanks!)

Carlton Lassiter leaned back in his chair at the bar, taking another leisurely sip of his scotch and letting his mind wander. 

He was off-duty for the weekend; Chief Vick had insisted. She wanted him to get some rest before Halloween; which took place in a few days. Out of all the holidays in the year, it was on Halloween that Santa Barbara’s crime rate spiked. 

And of course, Lassiter wasn’t about to miss that. So he begrudgingly allowed Vick to force him into taking a weekend off, rather than work overtime as he was accustomed to doing.

His first act of relaxation was to go to this specific bar and have a few drinks that - for once - weren’t a way to numb emotions he would rather not feel. And despite the nagging feeling of ‘ _I should be working_ ’, Lassiter had to admit he was enjoying his evening thus far.

He could feel the faintest nip in the air, signaling that someone had entered the bar and let the crisp autumn wind inside. He downed the rest of his scotch and was trying to decide whether to order another drink or just go home when someone walked up to where he sat.

Lassiter looked up, expecting to see some random woman who had had too much to drink, or possibly the bartender. Instead, he saw Juliet O’Hara standing there. “O’Hara?” 

He had finally admitted to himself that he cared a lot about his partner - maybe cared a little too much - which had led to him gradually calling her Juliet more often. Sometimes he slipped back into the habit of using her surname; fortunately she didn’t seem to mind either way.

“Hi.” She gave him a bright smile and a little wave. 

Lassiter could tell that she wanted to ask him something, and the few beats of silence before she spoke again confirmed that suspicion. “So. Carlton. I was wondering…” She paused.

He arched his eyebrows. “Yeah?” Then something else occurred to him, and his brows lowered, furrowing. “Are you okay? Here.” He stood up, vacating his chair. Sit down.”

She laughed quietly. “No, I’m fine.” She tucked a lock of hair behind her ear. “I was going to ask if you could--if you want to come by my place tonight.” 

Lassiter blinked rapidly. “Uh--”

She quickly rushed on. “No, see, I was going to have a scary movie marathon with Tara, but she can’t make it. So I have all these scary movies and bags of popcorn and no one to really have a marathon with, and I was wondering if you wanted to come by.” 

“Why don’t you invite Spencer over?” The words slipped out before Lassiter could stop them, and he mentally kicked himself. 

She rolled her eyes, but in a fond way. “Because I didn’t ask Shawn, I asked you.” She tilted her head. “Come on. Please? Just one movie, and you can go home.” 

Lassiter almost said no, but then thought about it. He did enjoy spending time with her, and it wouldn’t exactly be polite to turn her invite down when both Lassiter and Juliet knew he didn’t have anything at all to do tonight. “Okay, sure. But only if I can stop by my place first and bring some scotch with me.”

Juliet wrinkled her nose. “More alcohol?”

Now it was his turn to roll his eyes. “I’ve only had two drinks so far, don’t be ridiculous.” He shrugged back into his jacket. “Well, are we going or not?” He kept his tones as neutral as he could, though he wasn’t sure he could entirely hide the fact that he was actually looking forward to the idea.

“Yes, we are. Did you pay for that?” She gestured at the empty glass on the table.

“Of course I did. I’m not going to get in on the bartender’s bad side,” Lassiter responded. “That and not paying for your drink is against the law.” He made his way towards the door, giving the bartender a half-wave-half-salute before exiting. “Did you drive, or did you walk here from the station?”

“I walked. Can you give me a ride back to my car?”

Lassiter’s automatic reaction was to make a snarky comment, but it was autumn, and there was a chill in the air. “Of course.” He opened the passenger side door. “Get in.” 

He entered through the driver’s side and started down the road toward the police department. Juliet was humming quietly to herself, staring out the window - Lassiter could see her in the corner of his eye. 

When they reached the police station, she got out of his car and glanced back. “You remember where I live, right?”

“I think so. You live in Brazil, right?” Lassiter deadpanned. When she laughed, he smirked, pleased that the random comment had amused her. “Of course I do, Juliet. Go home, I’ll catch up.”

\- . - . - . - . - . - . -. -

Thirty minutes later, Lassiter cruised to a stop outside Juliet’s residence and made his way to her door. He rapped on the door and then took a step back. He could see the moon - nearly a full orb - glowing in the sky, and his mind briefly strayed to thoughts of werewolves.

“Carlton!” The door had swung open. Juliet gave him one of her signature smiles - gentle and bright all at once. “Come on in.”

He walked inside, taking a look around. “So, what movies do you have anyway? Please tell me that your idea of ‘scary’ movies aren’t things like _Casper The Friendly Ghost_ or _Ghostbusters_.” He set his bottle of scotch on the counter, noting that the fragrance of popcorn and what smelled like apples and cinnamon permeated the air. “Apple pie?” 

“I confess that _Ghostbusters_ is one of the films I have, but there are definitely scarier ones. They’re all on the coffee table if you want to pick one out yourself.” Juliet opened the microwave to take a bag of popcorn out. “And no, but you’re close. Apple cobbler. I made some earlier today.”

“Can I have some? I haven’t eaten dinner yet.” Lassiter ambled over to the coffee table and started flipping through the DVDs. _The Lost Boys_ … _Van Helsing_ … there was _Ghostbusters_ … _Dracula_ (that one version from the 90s)... _The Shining_ … _Psycho_ \- an old classic that even Lassiter had watched on many a Halloween when he was younger… _Poltergeist_ … _The Silence of the Lambs_...

“Well, you’re making yourself at home pretty quickly,” Juliet teased. “Sure you can. I’ll bring some over when I finish making the popcorn.”

Eventually, the two of them were settled on the sofa, a large bowl of popcorn sitting between them and a few sodas (and a glass of scotch) on the coffee table. All the lights had been shut off, leaving them in total darkness except for the faint glow of the town outside, and the light of the television set. After some discussion, Juliet and Lassiter had decided on _The Shining_ \- a classic, but not too cheesy. At least, that’s what Juliet said. Lassiter had never actually seen it before.

The film was 3/4ths of the way finished by the time every last crumb of apple cobbler and every last kernel of popcorn had vanished. As it turned out, Juliet hadn’t eaten dinner that night either; it took effort on both their parts to pace themselves and not eat all of the food within the first forty minutes.

The film ended. Lassiter glanced over at Juliet. She had brought her legs up onto the sofa sometime during the film, and had wrapped her arms around her knees to keep them close to her chest; a sign that she had been effectively scared by the movie.

She glanced sideways, catching him watching her, and flashed him a quiet, almost sheepish smile. “You can leave now, if you want. This was fun; thanks for--”

“Want to watch _Poltergeist_ now?” Lassiter knew it was technically rude to interrupt, but he didn’t want to outwardly admit that he was enjoying this and didn’t want to go home - not yet. 

She blinked, taken aback. Then she nodded. “Sure.” 

A few minutes later, they were watching yet another film. For some reason, this one got under Lassiter’s skin. The other had been less frightening to him; Poltergeist wasn’t frightening either, but it was definitely unnerving. He ended up pouring himself another glass of scotch (this was his fifth; still nowhere near enough to get him drunk, due to the small size of his glass).

So when Juliet ended up curled up next to him with her head on his shoulder, he didn’t push her away, secretly relieved at the comforting touch. She yawned a few times before falling still. 

Lassiter continued watching the film, managing to remain in control of how he reacted - until a particularly unexpected and rapid turn of events startled him. He jolted, feeling as though an electric shock had run through him.

Juliet gasped, started out of a light sleep. “Carlton--”

He felt his face warm slightly, embarrassed. “Sorry. I didn’t mean to wake you up.”

“I wasn’t sleeping.” Her defensive tone was broken by a stifled yawn. “Did you get scared?”

“No.” Now his voice was defensive. “Just… surprised. A little.”

She shot him a knowing expression that was partially a smile and partially a smirk. “I see.” 

Lassiter scowled at her, and pointedly turned his attention back to the television, his heartbeat gradually slowing back to normal. He inched his arm across the back of the sofa a bit, wanting to put his arm around Juliet again - not solely for emotional support, either - but she was awake and no longer leaning against him. So he decided to keep a respectable distance, keeping his arms at his sides. 

Suddenly, a warm hand interlaced its fingers in his own, and lifted his arm. He glanced over to see Juliet calmly drape his arm over her shoulders. He stared dumbfounded, his immediate thought being that he should make a comment on how unprofessional this was.

But that knowing smile of hers silenced him. So he left his arm around Juliet. A fuzzy voice in his head told him that this was only happening due to the drinks he had consumed earlier on, and that it didn't mean anything - _they were just partners and good friends_. 

But a short time later, when she drowsily rested her head on his shoulder and moved closer, he didn’t stop her.


	2. Hay Rides At a Pumpkin Farm

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Shawn gets excited over apples, pumpkins, and hay rides, while Lassiter is endlessly patient.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay, so I forgot this was supposed to be at a pumpkin farm, but there are pumpkins involved, so it shouldn't be that difficult.
> 
> Again, this is another story where the characters are probably slightly out-of-character. I apologise for that, but I'm rather happy with how it turned out. I kind of got carried away and it ended up way longer than I expected. Enjoy!

Carlton Lassiter slowed to a stop outside of his car, breathing heavy but even. It had been a few weeks since he last traveled this specific running trail; he was a little out-of-practise. Not enough that he couldn’t breathe steadily, though. He allowed himself a grin, more than a little proud of himself.

He opened his trunk and withdrew a bottle of water from an insulated bag. Tipping his head back, he downed half of it in one go. Drawing the back of his hand across his forehead, he shut the trunk and walked around the car to get in behind the driver’s seat. He started the car and took another long swig of water.

“Real thirsty today, huh, Lassie?”

If the car hadn’t still been in park, the way Lassiter’s foot slammed down on the gas pedal as he twisted around sharply in his seat would have sent it flying down the road. “Spencer! How did you get in my car?”

“I broke the lock,” Shawn said casually, popping up from the backseat. At Lassiter’s furious expression, he added, “I’m kidding. I have a key. I made a copy that one time you left your coat at the station. You know, when you went with Jules to a crime scene in her car, meaning you didn’t come back for your own key until later. Meaning I had the perfect opportunity to have a copy made.” He gave Lassiter a smug grin.

Lassiter huffed, rolling his eyes and turning around again. “I’m sure I could have you arrested for that.”

“Ah, but you won’t. The spirits tell me so.” Shawn leaned in between the two front seats and pecked Lassiter on the cheek. 

“I’m all sweaty from my run, what are you doing?” Lassiter wrinkled his nose and furrowed his brow, but secretly found Shawn’s unconditional affection endearing.

Shawn ignored him. “Lassie. I have an idea.”

“Does it involve you never breaking into my car again?” Lassiter switched gears to ‘drive’ and started down the road. 

“I can’t break into your car if I have a key,” Shawn shot back. “And no. We should go to that one farm. You know, the one with the apple orchard. They’re hosting free hay rides today.”

He was practically crackling with excitement and pent-up energy. Lassiter smiled briefly to himself. “No. I need to go home and change out of these clothes into a suit.”

“But you’re off-duty,” Shawn whined.

“I have to change into one of my civilian suits,” Lassiter retorted. “Why don’t you go with Gus?”

“He’s busy working. And he’s not my boyfriend.” Shawn leaned in between the front seats again and propped his chin on Lassiter’s shoulder. “C’monnn, it’ll be fun.” 

“Get off me before you make me crash the car. Then we’ll be taking an ambulance ride instead of a hay ride.”

Shawn disappeared into the backseat again and Lassiter could practically see the exaggerated pout that was almost certainly present on the other man’s face. Though taunting Shawn was quite a lot of fun, Lassiter decided enough was enough. “Fine. But you have to let me go home first.”

“Fine.” Shawn all but chirped the word. “It’s a good idea anyway. You look like a mess.” 

Lassiter would have once taken offence at those words, or found them annoying. But now he realised that the taunting and insults were meant fondly. And somehow that was a comforting thought.

The car fell silent for the rest of the drive - in this case, ‘silent’ meant Shawn chattering away about hay rides and pumpkin patches while Lassiter tuned him out. Shortly after, they pulled up next to Lassiter’s house.

“Stay here.” Lassiter got out and made his way inside. 

He took longer than he had expected - about fifteen minutes - due to having decided he should take a quick five-minute shower. He walked out into the living room, dressed in one of his more ‘casual’ suits… 

Only to find Shawn lounging on the sofa, flipping through the television channels.

“Spencer…” Lassiter sighed.

“Don’t act like you really wanted me to stay in the car. You were practically daring me to come inside,” Shawn remarked. He nibbled on some cashews he had nabbed from the cupboard. 

Lassiter shook his head. “Whatever.” He glanced at his watch. “It’s nearly lunchtime. Do you want to go get something to eat at the diner before we go to this hay ride thing you’re so excited about?”

Shawn sat up, tossing the few remaining cashews into his mouth. “Yes. I’m thinking pizza.” Before Lassiter could respond, Shawn had disappeared out the front door again.

\- . - . - . - . - . - . -. -

The two of them didn’t end up with pizza, but at least they ate lunch. Shawn had insisted upon a hamburger and fries, despite Lassiter’s best efforts to convince him to go for something that sounded a little less childish. Lassiter himself had ordered a BLT and a salad.

“Have you ever eaten a good-quality hamburger in your entire life, or have you only ever eaten those veggie burger things?” Shawn mused, sticking a few french fries into his mouth. 

“Of course,” Lassiter retorted. “I just prefer other things now.”

“Like your fancy pants sandwich,” Shawn remarked. 

“It’s not that fancy.” 

“You acted like it was.” 

Lassiter sipped his coffee. “No, I just told you that insisting so adamantly on a hamburger and french fries made you sound like a child.”

“I am a child, my dear Lassie,” Shawn said. He scooted around the booth until he was plastered against Lassiter’s side. “In fact, I’m your child.”

Lassiter’s face briefly scrunched up in mild disgust. “Spencer, you do understand how messed up that sounds, right?” He pushed the other man away.

Shawn didn’t respond, and instead scarfed down the remaining bites of the hamburger. Lassiter shook his head, and returned to his own lunch. 

Soon, they were back in the car and en route to the farm where the hay rides would be taking place. Lassiter wasn’t sure how to feel about this - he had been on a hay ride before, unless the one time when he was young and sneaked onto the back of a truck carrying hay to a field of cows counted. It just wasn’t something he had ever considered doing.

The farm bristled with activity; young children ran back and forth, screaming and laughing in delight, while adults milled around talking or trying to keep their children or grandchildren in line.

A woman stood near a table full of homegrown produce, chatting with who Lassiter assumed was the farmer’s wife. Next to them rested a stroller, where a baby who couldn’t have been more than eight months old slept peacefully. Despite Lassiter’s best efforts, a small smile flickered briefly across his face. 

Then Shawn took hold of his arm and all but dragged him forward. “Lassie! Look! It’s you.”

Lassiter looked in the direction Shawn was pointing, and saw a dog - a collie, to be precise - sitting a few yards away. Its warm brown eyes were watching the excitement all around, and its tail wagged slowly, causing a few dead leaves on the ground to rustle.

“You wish,” Lassiter scoffed. “The dog would probably put up with your insane energy more than I do.” 

Shawn snatched Lassiter’s hand, intertwining their fingers. “Aw, don’t be like that. I love you more than all the puppies in the world. Except maybe those really fluffy white puppies that look like mini polar bears.” A beat of silence. “Actually, no, I still love you more than those. Just barely. But I do.”

Lassiter rolled his eyes. “That’s good to know.” He tugged his hand away from Shawn and kept walking; but stayed close enough that their fingertips occasionally brushed together. 

They eventually found their way not to where the hay rides were taking place, but the apple orchard. Lassiter frowned. “Are we supposed to be here?”

“Maybe.” Shawn clambered onto the fence and sat atop it, legs swinging lazily. “I want an apple though.”

“You can’t just take these without paying for them. The farmer sells these, he doesn’t grow them so whackadoodles like you can come steal them.”

Shawn ignored him, jumping off the fence. “C’mon, how could he possibly notice two apples have gone missing?” 

“Oh, for…” Lassiter walked alongside the fence until he reached the gate, then opened it and walked into the orchard. “One apple, Spencer. I refuse to take part in this.” 

“You already are just by being here. You are my accomplice.” Shawn’s voice was muffled as he searched among the apple trees. 

“In that case, I’ll be back at the farmhouse.” Lassiter turned on his heel and exited the orchard. He heard a faint protest from Shawn, but didn’t turn back, nor did the other man follow. 

Back at the farmhouse, Lassiter approached the farmer. He really didn’t want Shawn to get in trouble, if someone did happen to find out what he did. “Excuse me.” 

“Yeah?” The farmer - Mr. Ericson - sounded friendly enough.

Lassiter scratched at the back of his neck, feeling more than a little awkward. “Uh, hi. I’m here with my boyf--um, my friend. And he’s a bit of a jokester, you know, and he went to your orchard to get an apple. I don’t want him to get in trouble, so I want to pay you for however much one or two apples might cost.”

Mr. Ericson raised an eyebrow. “There was a sign that said ‘don’t pick the apples’. I’m guessing he didn’t see it.”

“Or he just ignored it,” Lassiter retorted, annoyed. “How much do I owe you?”

“Eh, two apples only cost fifty cents. You don’t need to pay, just tell your friend not to pull these sorts of stunts--”

Lassiter cut him short, holding out two quarters he had withdrawn from his wallet. “Trust me, telling him not to pull these sorts of stunts never works. Here you are. Thank you for understanding.”

Mr. Ericson paused, then gave a shrug and accepted the change. “Sure thing.” He smiled, and then suddenly glanced sideways. “Ma’am, please don’t let your kids go out there!” He walked away, saying something about ornery ponies.

A few minutes later, Shawn came jogging over to Lassiter, and - as predicted - held out an apple. “C’mon. No one saw me. If they won’t notice one apple gone, why would they notice two? They’re good, Lassie. Way better than the ones from the store. Try it.” 

Lassiter shook his head. “No.”

“Why, afraid someone’ll see it?” Shawn looked around and smirked. “I totally got away with it. No one’ll notice if you eat it.”

If only he knew that even if he had been noticed, he wouldn’t face consequences for it. Lassiter rolled his eyes. “Later, Spencer.” 

Shawn shrugged and stuffed the apple into the pocket of his jacket. While Lassiter hadn’t had plans to eat the apple at all, he definitely wasn’t going to now. 

Then Shawn perked up, and in a high-pitched voice, exclaimed, “Heeere, Lassie!” 

Lassiter turned in the direction Shawn was running, and realised in wry amusement that he was chasing after the collie dog.

“Her name’s Colette!” Mrs. Ericson called to Shawn from the porch of the farmhouse. “She won’t answer to any name besides that.”

Shawn didn’t hear her and continued attempting to gain the dog’s attention by using his nickname for Lassiter. So, in an act of spite, Lassiter whistled and said, “Colette!”

The collie immediately switched course and came bounding over to Lassiter, who smirked at Shawn before petting the top of the dog’s head. Shawn came and sat down on the ground, taking advantage of the fact the dog had finally stopped moving. 

Eventually, it wandered off to sneak a few bites of a cookie some kid had left on the ground. Shawn sprang to his feet. “The hay rides are starting!”

Lassiter glanced at the place he had last seen the wagon, using one hand to shield his eyes from the setting sun. “Yeah, for the children.”

“So?” Shawn started toward the wagon, only to be dragged back by Lassiter’s hand on his shirt collar.

“Maybe you haven’t noticed, but neither children nor their parents are going to be very comfortable with a couple of adult men in the wagon with them,” Lassiter said. “Just wait for the hay rides for the teenagers and adults to start.”

Shawn pouted. “Stop ruining my fun.”

“I’m not, I’m keeping you from ruining theirs. Come on, if you agree to wait for the hay rides meant for people who aren’t children, I’ll buy you a pumpkin you can take home and carve.” Lassiter nodded toward the pile of orange and white fruit near the entrance to the farm.

Shawn gave him a sideways look. “You’re not lying?”

“Have I ever lied to you?” Lassiter asked, feigning an angelic smile. 

Shawn pretended to think deeply about the question. “Yes. Every time you say you don’t love me, even though I know you do.”

Lassiter arched his eyebrows. “Go pick out a pumpkin.”

Shawn ran down the hill, his arms outstretched like wings. Lassiter followed at a slower pace, watching as Shawn nearly tripped before catching himself and beginning to sort through the pumpkins.

And he continued sorting through the pumpkins for at least ten minutes after Lassiter reached him. 

Finally, he pushed a good-sized white pumpkin at Lassiter. “This one is perfect.” 

“It’s white.”

“Thanks for pointing out the obvious, Lassie.” Shawn patted his shoulder. “It’s also unique. No one else ever carves white pumpkins.”

“That’s because orange ones are traditional,” Lassiter pointed out. 

“And boring.” Shawn shoved the pumpkin at Lassiter again.

“You carry it,” Lassiter said. “I have to have my hands free to pay the guy.” He caught sight of the farmer and went to do just that, with Shawn tagging along behind him.

Mr. Ericson kept casting glances at Shawn, who responded with a variety of facial expressions up until the point when the exchange had been completed and he and Lassiter were on their way back to the car.

Shawn dumped the pumpkin into the backseat. Then, after a moment’s pause, he said almost as an afterthought, “Thank you.” 

Lassiter started to respond, but Shawn interrupted again. “I mean, thank you for not just the pumpkin but for the hay ride later and for the day in general.”

“You’re welcome.” Lassiter just had time to get two words out before Shawn hugged him. He awkwardly returned the hug for a few moments before carefully extracting himself. “All right, all right. Enough of that. I think the hay rides for the adults are starting pretty soon. Let’s get back.” 

Sure enough, just as they re-entered the farm, they could see a few adults and teenagers milling around beside a wagon full of hay. Two horses - one black and one white - that Lassiter had seen earlier was attached to the wagon. 

He and Shawn reached the wagon just as the farmhand was about to get into the front seat of the wagon. He noticed them and nodded towards the back. “We have plenty of room left if you wanna get in.” 

He wasn’t wrong - there were only a few people in the wagon. Three teenagers, and two adults who appeared to be a couple.

Shawn didn’t have to be told twice, and clambered up onto the back of the wagon, sending hay drifting to the ground. He turned and offered his hand, which Lassiter (only slightly grudgingly) accepted, allowing Shawn to help him into the wagon. 

With a click of the farmhand’s tongue, the horses walked forward. The sudden jerky movement caused Shawn to tip over, falling against Lassiter and in turn knocking him over. 

“Spencer, get off me.” Lassiter coughed around a mouthful of hay. The weight on his back disappeared and Shawn dragged him into a sitting position.

“Sorry, Lassie.” His apology was light, but genuine.

Lassiter grunted in response, brushing hay off of his suit. He looked around. The field and a few sparse trees drifted slowly past, and the sun had set completely, leaving the sky a deep purple colour - except for the horizon, where a ribbon of rosy-orange could be seen.

Shawn had struck up a conversation with the teenagers; two girls, and one boy. He was currently bragging about his psychic abilities, much to their disbelief - until he could list off things he knew about them, then their expressions became awed.

Lassiter turned his attention back to the natural surroundings. He had to admit that the night air and the rocking motion of the horses’ gait were relaxing. He closed his eyes for a few minutes, breathing in the scent of the hay and of ripe apples.

Suddenly, one of the girls let out a gasp that was half excitement and half shock. Lassiter opened his eyes again, instinctively reaching into his jacket with one hand before remembering he hadn’t brought his gun.

Then he realised her reaction was due to the fact that Shawn had stood up and now walked in tight circles around the wagon, his arms outstretched for balance.

“Spencer! Sit down,” Lassiter snapped. “You’re going to fall over and crush someone.” 

“Oh, ye of little faith,” Shawn responded. “I now have my sea legs - or, rather, my hay legs - and can walk around with ease.”

Lassiter rolled his eyes for what felt like the hundredth time that day. He kept quiet about Shawn’s antics - until the teenage boy piped up. “Hey, bet you can’t stand on the edge of the wagon.”

“I accept your challenge,” Shawn replied, an expression that said ‘I can totally do this’ on his face. He walked toward the side of the wagon.

“Spencer, don’t,” Lassiter said, unable to keep the urgency from his voice. 

“It’s fine, Lassie. I’ll just stand up, then get down again. A few seconds on the edge won’t hurt. You need to learn to live a little.” Shawn gave a flippant wave of his hand, and stepped up onto the edge of the wagon. 

“Don’t--!” Lassiter started to stand up, only to lose his balance.

Everything happened within moments. Lassiter managed to stand up again and stay on his feet. Shawn stood on the edge of the wagon for less than two seconds before the wheel caught on a rock or some other obstruction. And then Shawn fell, disappearing into the shadows outside of the wagon. The teenage girls both screamed.

“Shawn!” Without thinking, Lassiter jumped off the back of the wagon before it even stopped. He hit the ground hard, his legs buckling beneath him and sending him tumbling several yards before he managed to regain control. He staggered to his feet and turned a 360, looking for Shawn.

A shadow lay sprawled out on the ground about ten feet away. Lassiter ran over and fell to his knees. “Shawn.” 

The other man groaned. “Lassie… I think I fell.”

“Yeah, you did,” Lassiter snapped. “I told you not to pull that damn stunt.” He tapped Shawn’s leg, eliciting a yelp of pain. Lassiter touched it again, as gently as he could. “It’s not broken, or fractured. You probably have a sprained ankle, at the very least.”

There was a loud commotion as the farmhand finally managed to get the horses to stop and came over to check on them, holding a bright lantern. Lassiter explained what had happened, letting the man check Shawn over.

“He’s fine. He has a sprained ankle, and he’ll probably have a bruise or a bump on his head tomorrow, but he doesn’t have any broken bones. We’re close to the farm; we can put him in the wagon and take him back,” the farmhand said.

Before Lassiter could respond, Shawn said dolefully, “That isn’t fair to the rest of the people who paid for the hay ride though. They shouldn’t have to leave early.” 

Lassiter sighed grudgingly. “He has a point. Just pick us up on the way back.” 

The farmhand hesitated, then shrugged, nodded, and returned to the wagon. A few moments later, it rolled away.

Silence fell for a long moment, until Shawn’s voice broke it. “Lassie, I’m sorry about your money too.”

“Don’t worry about it,” Lassiter replied. “It was a couple dollars. Hardly something to get upset over. Obviously you were being stupid and should listen to me next time, but don’t worry about the money.”

“Yeah. Still. Sorry.” Shawn really did sound genuinely repentant.

“Hey. I said don’t worry,” Lassiter said. “Really, it’s okay.”

“Okay.” Shawn’s voice sounded a little less guilty now. The silence fell once again, and Lassiter found his mind drifting.

“Lassie?”

And he was snapped out of his thoughts. “Yeah?”

“I want to go home.”

“The wagon should be back pretty soon,” Lassiter responded, peering into the darkness. “Just try to be patient.”

Shawn shifted a little. “He said we weren’t far from the farm. Can’t you carry me back to the car?”

Lassiter could practically hear the pleading puppy dog eyes he knew he would be receiving if it were light enough. “What? No.” 

“But I don’t weigh that much, and you’re strong. And it’s getting cold. And late.”

“No.” 

“Please? At the very least, you can help me walk back. It’s just a sprained ankle, I should be able to walk without too much trouble.” 

Lassiter sighed and stood up. “Fine.” He reached down and took Shawn’s hand, helping haul him to his feet. He slung Shawn’s arm over his shoulder, waiting for him to gain his footing. Then they slowly made their way toward the farm.

Shawn kept stumbling, but managed to walk without falling, especially with Lassiter as support. On their way out, Lassiter let the farmer know what had happened and asked him to notify the farmhand. 

When they reached the car, Shawn collapsed in the passenger seat, wincing as he situated his legs in a way that would result in minimal pain. Lassiter sat down in the drivers’ seat and started the engine, casting sideways glances at Shawn every now and then.

Neither of them spoke. Lassiter drove up in front of Shawn’s place a short while later. “Well, here we are. C’mon, I’ll help you inside.”

No answer. A quick look showed that Shawn had fallen asleep. He fidgeted, his hands shaking for a moment, but he showed no signs of waking up.

Lassiter sat there for a long moment, thinking. Then he put the car into reverse and started driving again.

Eventually, he stopped outside his house and got out of the car. He shut the door as quietly as possible and went around to the other side, opening Shawn’s door. The other man still didn’t stir. Lassiter unbuckled the seatbelt, reached inside, and carefully gathered Shawn into his arms.

He balanced on foot for a second so that he could use his other foot to shut the car door. Then he carried Shawn inside and deposited him gently on the sofa. 

Lassiter stood there for a moment. Shawn looked so peaceful when he was sleeping, though his boundless energy showed even while he slept; he quivered and twitched, moving around. He couldn’t ever stay completely still.

Lassiter turned around and shut the front door, locking it and feeling rather tired himself. So instead of making something for supper, he decided to skip the last meal of the day and go to bed.

On his way to his room, Lasister hesitated and then crouched down next to the sofa. “Be more careful the next time we go on a hay ride, Shawn. You scared me for a minute there,” he murmured under his breath. Then he placed a quick kiss on Shawn’s forehead, and retreated to his bedroom.


	3. Baking

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Lassiter has had a bad day, so he decides to indulge in the therapeutic art of baking.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Very much a Shassie one shot. Rated G, if it were a film. There's one brief kiss at the end and that's it. I wrote it as a gift for a friend who was having a bad night, but figured that since it was with one of her Psychtober prompts ("Baking Pumpkin Pie/Bread/Etc."), I'd upload it.

It was late when Lassiter finally got home. He didn’t bother to change out of his suit into his civvies before collapsing on the sofa and switching on the television. 

The day had been rough. First, paperwork had gotten mixed up; he was certain it had been in order the last time he handled it, and that someone else was to blame. But the evidence pointed to him, and he wondered if he had just been too tired to notice what he was doing. 

Then someone had called in about a robber. It had led to a chase that ended with Lassiter being tackled to the ground by the culprit. He had eventually overpowered the man, but came away with multiple lacerations and bruises.

Overall, he had had a terrible day and was now irritable and tired.

Flipping through the channels brought no comfort. Most of what was on happened to be horror films; ah, Halloween. An interesting enough holiday, he supposed, but not one he typically celebrated. (Not that he usually celebrated holidays.)

The key word being ‘usually’. Shawn had insisted on putting up ‘at least a few’ Halloween decorations, that ended up being quite a lot.

Speaking of Shawn… Lassiter sat up and looked around. “Spencer?” 

No answer. He was probably still out with Gus; the two of them had planned a day-trip to go fishing with Henry.

Lassiter unfolded himself from the sofa and retreated to the bedroom to put his coat away. He kept the rest of his outfit on, not feeling up to changing into something else more casual yet. After a long moment of thought, he carefully took off his shoulder holster as well and put it away. 

Then he walked to the kitchen and started taking ingredients out of the cupboards and pantries. 

Ever since he had moved away from home as a teenager, he had found the act of baking to be relaxing. It didn’t always do the trick, but perhaps tonight it would. At least, he hoped so. Without Shawn around to take his mind off things, Lassiter was feeling more and more stressed.

It should be something befitting for autumn; something cinnamony, at the very least. Lassiter thought for a minute and finally decided on pumpkin pie. That was one of the few foods both he and Shawn enjoyed. Usually, they were at odds over what to eat. 

Slowly, Lassiter fell into the methodical rhythm of measuring out ingredients and placing them in the correct bowls; there were three. One for the dry ingredients, one for the wet, and one to mix them both in.

After putting the pie in the oven, Lassiter paced in circles. Shawn was still gone, and it was becoming a little bit worrying. What if he wasn’t actually going to come back? What if he had left for good?

 _Great_. A wearying day added to stress and an empty home always ended up like this. The fear that Shawn had gotten bored of Lassiter and moved on.

After several minutes of aimless pacing and the nervous clenching and unclenching of fists, Lassiter made a beeline back to the kitchen and readied the ingredients for an apple pie. If-- _when_ \--Shawn came back, it was impossible to know how long your pastries or sweets would last. It was safer to make two pies. 

Slicing the apples was his favourite part of making any sort of apple-based pastry. The thwack of the knife against the cutting board after it sliced through the apples was oddly satisfying. Lassiter may have diced the apples a little more forcefully than he should have just to hear that sound. 

He was mixing the combined ingredients into a batter when someone grabbed him in a chokehold from behind.

Lassiter’s instincts kicked in, and he jabbed his hand backwards, hitting whoever it was in the ribcage with the end of the wooden spoon. The assailant let out a familiar-sounding yelp and released Lassiter, who then spun around.

Shawn was cowering against the refrigerator, rubbing at his side with a wounded expression. “Lassie, that _hurt_.” He pouted. 

Lassiter put the spoon in the sink. “Spencer, you can’t just sneak up on me like that and you know it,” he groused, scowling. He retrieved another spoon from the drawer and started mixing the batter again. Then, after a moment’s thought, he glanced sideways - not quite at Shawn - and said, “I’m sorry. Are you okay?”

“It’ll be black and blue tomorrow, but I’ll live,” Shawn responded lightheartedly. He all but skipped across the kitchen and stopped beside Lassiter. “What are you making? I smell pumpkins.”

“That’s the pie in the oven,” Lassiter responded, feeling a warm blanket of relief settle over him as the realisation sank in - Shawn was here. He hadn’t left. “Where have you been? I was going to call your father after I finished with the apple pie. You could have let me know where you were, you know.”

It wasn’t entirely a lie; he hadn’t been planning to call Henry until the next day, at least. But the rest of it was true.

“Dear old dad got distracted fishing and refused to take me and Gus home until it was too dark to see the water,” Shawn replied. “Then Gus couldn’t get his car to start, so I had to fix it for him.”

“You mean your dad had to fix it,” Lassiter retorted, knowing quite well that Shawn was useless at repairing anything mechanical.

“I’ve heard it both ways.” Shawn fished a slice of apple out of the batter and nibbled on it.

Lassiter shot him an exasperated glance. “No, you haven’t. And don’t do that again, you haven’t even washed your hands.”

“I did back at Dad’s. But very well. I won’t ruin your precious pastries,” Shawn said, jumping up to sit on the edge of the counter. He swung his legs back and forth, crossing his ankles together. He casually poked Lassiter’s leg with his foot every few seconds. It was on purpose, and Lassiter knew it. 

He didn’t tell Shawn to stop. A comfortable silence - different from the suffocating one Lassiter had endured before Shawn’s return - fell upon the house until Lassiter put the apple pie in the oven.

Someone grabbed him from behind again. Only this time it was a hug and not a chokehold. “I missed you.”

“Sure you did,” Lassiter replied, disentangling himself from Shawn’s arms. “I bet you were having the time of your life pestering your father.” 

“I did,” Shawn admitted. “He hated the fact I drank all the lemonade before he could.” He shrugged, sauntering over to the sofa. “But I did miss you. Come sit down.”

“No. I have to watch and make sure the pies don’t burn,” Lassiter replied, though the idea of sitting down now that he wasn’t alone appealed to him.

Shawn wasn’t about to give up, and crossed the room again, taking Lassiter’s hand and dragging him over to the sofa. “You look like a zombie,” he stated matter-of-factly.

Lassiter rolled his eyes. “Thanks a lot.” But he knew Shawn by now. The offhanded insult was his way of asking what was wrong. After a second’s hesitation, Lassiter relayed the events of the day, stopping every now and then when Shawn interjected with some sort of remark meant for comedy relief.

Shawn was quiet while Lassiter took the pumpkin pie from the oven and placed it on the counter to cool. Lassiter went to sit back down, noting the pondering expression on Shawn’s face. “What?”

“You did great today, Lassie.” Shawn kicked back and rested his feet on the coffee table. “Don’t think you didn’t.” 

Out of habit, Lassiter shoved Shawn’s feet off the table. “I don’t think that. I know I did great. I always do,” he retorted, though he really didn’t believe those words - and Shawn knew he didn’t. 

“Yes, you do. But you don’t always remember that.” Shawn relocated his legs from the floor to stretching across Lassiter’s lap. 

The detective gave him an irritated look, but didn’t push his legs away. “And how do you know that?” 

Shawn touched two fingers to his temple. “I’m a psychic.”

“Oh. Right. I forgot,” Lassiter said sarcastically. He leaned back against the sofa. “Whatever. It was an off day. They happen.” 

“Yeah. And you reach the end of each of ‘em with flying colours,” Shawn replied. He swung his legs off Lassiter’s lap and back to the floor. Lassiter automatically looked over, and Shawn took that opportunity to press a kiss to the detective’s lips.

Lassiter blinked, momentarily stunned, before returning the kiss before pulling away. Shawn contentedly interlaced his fingers with Lassiter’s, and completed his last sentence. “And you astound me every day.”

Lassiter looked away, loathe to show the emotions that were no doubt showing in his eyes. Shawn seemed to understand and simply tightened his grasp on Lassiter’s hand a bit. 

And in a house saturated with the fragrance of autumn pastries and blanketed in warmth - hand in hand with Shawn, who wasn’t going to leave - Lassiter felt the stress of the day fade away and dissipate into nothing. And for that night, everything in life was right.


End file.
